


Pippin in Gondor

by primsong



Category: Lord of the Rings - Fandom
Genre: Drama, Gondor, Hobbits, Pelennor, Poetry, Wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-04
Updated: 2010-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-12 10:26:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primsong/pseuds/primsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A longer, serious piece. Pippin's thoughts as he finds himself in a besieged city of stone, far from home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pippin in Gondor

**Pippin in Gondor**

How lonely is the sound of this city at night,  
Unknown voices, borne on cold, smoke-scented air  
Behind the dark walls there are soldiers out of sight,  
Beyond them, a lantern's broken glare and shadow  
On the debris of war -  
Evidences of black forays only recently past.  
So lonely; the shadow from the East seems only  
A darker stain on the shadow in my heart.

Banners rustle softly overhead on the towers,  
Whispering to one another, their bright  
Signets lost in the deepening shadows  
As surely as we may, all of us, be lost.  
Somber voices, low - out of place, muted  
In the grandeur of this ancient city.  
No doubt there were once brighter days here,  
Music and cheer. The only music I have heard  
Is the bell of the night watch - muffled tolling,  
Murmuring low and deep as the river nearby;  
Cold, deep and strong, as the heavy hand of duty.

Denethor. The chill deepens inside me at the thought.  
Is my life to be spent thus in service to him,  
Hard, kinglike man of Gondor seated in ancient stewardship,  
An empty, forsaken throne crowning the steps  
Behind him.  
My life given to him, for his son's sake.  
(I grieve for both his son and myself, I cannot deny.)

Columns grasping upward, hard, grey lines of them,  
As if they were once living trees in ranks long gone cold.  
Carven images of Men made even bigger by their deaths,  
Lining edges of an echoing, heartless chamber.  
I fancy they would even make Gandalf feel small,  
If that were possible.  
Such a sadness pervades, where one should expect  
It to evoke glory instead.  
(But I have learned to keep such thoughts to myself.)

My memory of sweeter days, not so distant past seems dim  
And faint. It seems so far now, and I so small.  
Below me the cloud-faded hills across the darkened plain,  
The river, running dull - no longer a barrier of strength,  
To keep out the growing threat.  
All shadows fade eventually, don't they?  
What is to become of us if they do not?  
(Where has Merry got to in all of this?)

Riddle of my heart: such rending loneliness in the midst of many.  
I cannot keep my heart and mind from turning to the others -  
Our hope suspended by such a slender chain.  
I am only one small soldier in a city preparing for war,  
Bound in service to a stern, unyielding lord.  
Such thoughts would have crushed me once, but then  
I never would have thought I could bear any of this.  
Such a hard lesson to learn - how burdens are laid,  
And how they can be borne beyond natural strength.  
(Where is he? Is he safe? Are they together - or even alive?)

Such a city would have been beyond the imagination  
In the Shire. A tale for the fireside.  
I reach for comfort in that, but No.  
Such fears could not be borne there either.  
Lonely and cold it is, yet strongly built and of such stones!  
So unlike any other place I have yet been.  
Hard angles, tall doorways, so many barricades and ways.  
So little that is soft, green or growing.  
Ah, what would I give just to walk in my parents fields again,  
Clear water, honest faces, shade in summer and scent of flowers.  
Have I any hope of seeing it again -  
(Where has Merry got to in all of this?)

The blackness deepens - the lamp awaits kindling.  
I shall have need of its small flame,  
Though it neither warm  
Nor comfort.


End file.
